


Need

by Llama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Llama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the full moon, Isaac wakes up alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Ages and point in time are not mentioned specifically, but obviously in the present timeline Isaac is underage. See tags for anything else that would normally be included in warnings.
> 
> Written as a pinch hit for [tw_holidays](http://tw-holidays.livejournal.com/) 2012.

The morning after the full moon, Isaac wakes up alone.

It's been happening that way for a while. The pack, _his_ pack, and he still gets a warm glow inside when he thinks of them as that, scrap and fight and howl their way through the forest for hours under each full moon, but one by one, two by two, they drift away as the night wears on. Nobody asks where they go, and mostly nobody tells. Once they needed to know where everyone was in case of emergencies, but now they're secure in themselves; secure too in their wolves and their territory.

Even the humans, and they have a few of those now. They might not be able to stand up to some of the rougher stuff, but the fact that Danny can pull off a scarier howl than Jackson will never stop being funny. 

And Derek will never stop being Derek. 

“Here,” is all Isaac gets, and a brown paper bag in his lap. The burger is still warm, because Derek drives like a demon even along the forest tracks. It's a miracle the suspension on that car isn't completely shot. 

It's another miracle that Derek doesn't immediately stomp off inside to do his solitary brooding thing like he usually does. He doesn't actually _ask_ if he can sit on the front steps with Isaac, but he stands there, possibly glowering — it would be very him, but Isaac is in no fit state to squint into the sun to check — until Isaac shuffles along to make room.

The aches and pains are wearing off now, but he still winces.

Derek doesn't miss it. He takes a bite of his own burger and chews. “Are you—” he starts, as painfully awkward as only Derek Hale attempting a personal conversation can be. “I didn't—”

“It's fine.” Isaac concentrates on his breakfast and on not blushing. It's not fine, not yet, but in a couple of hours he won't be able to feel a thing except for the disappointment that always comes with its loss.

He knows how it goes. By the time the rest of the pack trickles in, by ones and twos again, to spend part of their Saturday painting a wall or adding some tiles to the sturdier finished parts of the roof, there won't be any evidence on his body of what went on last night. He'll work on the porch and Derek will find something to do in the basement for a few hours, and he won't come out until Isaac goes off to whatever party Lydia is dragging them all off to this week.

Isaac will dance, maybe find someone to make out with, but he won't go home with them, and when he gets back Derek's door will be shut and Isaac will opt for one of the tents out front. 

He'll spend the next week or so reminding himself that he can't just touch Derek, even when he remembers all the places Derek's fingers touched him, where his claws and teeth dug in while Isaac shuddered and howled underneath him, how it felt to be so full of Derek. Full, but not full enough. Never full enough.

It'll be a few days before Derek can meet his eye for more than a second, and around the new moon before Derek will train with him in more than a half-assed, mostly hands-off way.

Isaac has maybe an hour and a half before he can no longer feel the stretch and burn of where Derek was buried in him last night, and he is really, really tired of this game.

“Can we—” he says, but he has to bite his tongue. Talk, he was going to say, because Isaac doesn't know much about relationships (or whatever this is, but he's been reliably informed that it is, in fact, a relationship) but talking is something you would do with a normal, reasonable, non-fucked up person. 

Derek Hale is not that person.

“I should—” Derek says, and then, weirdly, “I'm sorry. There's no excuse for what I did.”

Derek is _talking_. Except that he doesn't sound like Derek, other than the awkwardness. He sounds like he's been replaced by a pod person; or no, he sounds like he's reading a script. Because Isaac doesn't need to be an alpha to smell something fishy here. There's nothing about Derek other than his words that says 'sorry'. A hint of shame maybe, but it's barely a whiff, and the words barely a whisper, carrying no weight at all when compared to the _thud, thud, thud_ of Derek's heart. 

Isaac studies his fingernails. He has splinters in more than a few of them from last night. “So, next full moon we won't be fucking all night. Is that what you're saying?”

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

“I'm saying—” Derek says, too carefully, and Isaac wants to laugh, or hit him, or something. Maybe both. “I'm saying I'll try not to... abuse my position.”

Oh, this is too funny. It makes sense now: it has Stiles, and maybe Scott too, written all over it. He's seen the worried looks they give him and Derek. And Isaac loves the little fuckers like brothers, but he's not going to let this one go. 

“Don't laugh at me,” Derek says, and now he's pissed. 

_Good._

Isaac is up and standing over Derek before he's finished speaking. “I don't know who's been giving you advice,” he says, lowering himself into Derek's lap. He presses his mouth right up against Derek's ear. Derek is tense underneath him, muscles taut as if he's going to leap up and throw Isaac off any second. “But you should tell them to go fuck themselves.”

He's on his back before he can blink, Derek's hand pinning him down by the throat and red eyes glowing into his.

“Yeah, like that,” he gasps wildly, and he can hear Derek's claws splinter the planks on either side of him. Derek is poised, crouched above him, the change flickering on his face as he fights for control. “That's it. Let go, Derek, come on. Give it to me. Give it _all_ to me.”

“You don't know,” Derek growls, canines flashing dangerously. Isaac is way past worrying about how much that turns him on. “You don't know what you're asking for.”

“You're not the only one who talks to Stiles,” Isaac says, and takes advantage of Derek's momentary surprise at that to twist up and make a break for the house. 

They crash together through the front door, make a dent in the newly repaired banisters on their way to the tiny, bare-walled room where Derek sleeps. Isaac makes for the mattress on the floor and only just scrabbles onto it before Derek lands on his back.

“I know you want to,” Isaac says, and his voice is hoarse. “You could do it now, I'm probably still,” he swallows, “slick enough.” 

The groan he gets in response is the most honest thing Isaac has heard from Derek so far today, and the rip and tear of his jeans the most welcome sound he's heard in a long time. Isaac's never going to experience sex as a human, but he can't imagine it could live up to this, let alone what he wants from Derek. What he's _going to get_ even if it kills him.

Derek's his alpha; he knows how to calm Isaac if he wants to, how to make his body pliant and workable in his hands. But Derek doesn't try to do that, doesn't try to make it easy on him, doesn't baby him. Isaac fights his instincts, fights off the urge to howl his joy when Derek's claws tangle in his hair and yank his head back. Not yet, not yet, not even now when Derek's cock thrusts into him in one hard, fast stroke, sliding him up the mattress, opening him up once more.

It's enough, usually, but Isaac knows better now, knows there's more that Derek has been holding back. Thank god for Stiles's penis obsession and his boundless curiosity, because Isaac could have waited _years_ for Derek to mention one particular side effect of becoming an alpha.

“ _Derek_ ,” he gasps out, the words punching out of his throat with the force of Derek's thrusts. “Do it.”

The only answer is a touch of forehead on his back, a scrape of teeth on his hip, but he's going to take that as a 'yes', or a 'hang on' or a 'be patient' at worst, because Derek is taciturn, sure, but he can usually manage one word, even if it's just 'no'. And there's something different about his rhythm, maybe, or his strokes in and out, the angle, the feeling even; it's happening, Isaac is sure of it. 

“I—” Derek starts, at the end of a long stroke in, and then “It—” Isaac doesn't need him to finish, because it's there, he can feel it, a swelling, hard against his hole. He's forgotten every prayer he's ever heard, and he's not sure God listens to werewolves anyhow, but he mumbles words that'll suffice if he does, because jesus, there's no way that's going to fit inside him, full as he is already. 

“Fuck, you're—” Derek groans, and Isaac has never heard his voice so hoarse, so cracked and broken. “I need to—”

“Do it,” Isaac tells him again, and he'd brace himself but it's already way beyond that point. All he can do is give himself over to Derek and trust that he'll get them both out of the other side in one piece. Or at least in few enough pieces that they can put each other back together again.

Derek retreats, and all Isaac can do is half-sob in frustration, but Derek growls and thrusts back in before he truly has chance to miss it. He's not stopping this time, either, just lifts up, takes Isaac's hips with him, and it's like the world rights itself, adjusts its physics so that gravity or something slowly pulls Derek's knot into him at the same time as Derek pushes in, and Isaac's eyes water but it's a good pain, one that is an easy price to pay for getting what he wants, what he _needs_. 

Derek works Isaac with his thumbs, calloused pads pulling and pushing, until suddenly the pressure eases, and Isaac feels his sore, overstretched muscles clamp down around the huge, solid knot. 

“Fuck,” he grinds out, light-headed with achievement and the orgasm that overtakes him, because _yes_ , finally. Derek doesn't seem to have much room to thrust, but there's something about the way he rubs and twists the knot from the inside that's better, if anything, and Isaac's almost too caught up in moving into the rhythm to fully appreciate the way Derek's cock is pulsing inside him, the way it's filling every last space inside him, it seems, with Derek's come. 

He doesn't even know how long it takes for the knot to go down, so Derek can slide, reluctantly, out of him. The only thing he knows is that it's not long enough.

“We can do that again, right?” he croaks, because howling is hard on the throat. “Later, I mean.” The spirit is, god knows, always willing, but even werewolf flesh has its limits.

“All the time,” Derek says, and pulls him in closer. 

The morning _after_ the morning after the full moon, Isaac wakes up sore and sticky, with Derek's hair in his face. In the circumstances, he isn't inclined to complain.


End file.
